Unexpected Company

Yesterday I preached at my field education placement church. As I made announcements before the service, I noticed a familiar face, but I couldn't quite place the face. During the greeting time/passing the peace the familiar face made his way to me. He asked, "So you're the student intern this summer?" I answered, "Yes I am." He replied, "Nice to meet you, I'm ___ _______." Immediately I realized that this was a pastor of one of the 10 largest UMC churches in the US, that I've participated in studies using his curricula in the past. He explained that he was on vacation and that he worshiped with this congregation when he was in the area. We exchanged pleasantries and then worship resumed.

"Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, ‘Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it!’" Genesis 28:16

During the next few minutes, I felt my nerves start to work on me. How could I, a seminary student that has yet to take the required preaching course to graduate, offer a sermon that could be worth speaking to someone of his experience? After I allowed my mind to race a little bit, I realized the text I was preaching on: Jacob's encounter with God. I also remembered one of the thoughts I'd had during the week of preparation that made it into my sermon: "...we ought to be awed...when we encounter God breaking in to our reality."

My mind started to shift from the VIP in the second row to the fact that I was failing to be awed by the presence of God in worship because of this person's presence. I was allowing myself to be nervous about speaking to a congregation including him, instead of being nervous about the fact that I was speaking about God. I felt foolish, but also comforted. I feel the sermon went well, especially after I had a moment of conviction for myself.

I ought to be more awed by the time I spend with scripture. It's presence and words should be allowed to make me feel uncomfortable and inadequate. But I, like Jacob, can trust in God's promise to "be with" me. (Gen. 28: 15; Matthew 28: 20)

Why I rise early.

I'm not a morning person. I would say I never have been, but that would be a lie. As a child, I used to wake up at 7am almost automatically. Then the teen years hit and I was able to sleep in. Now, I guard the few days a week that I'm able to sleep in.

But there are certain things that get me out of bed early. When school is in session, I rise early enough to enjoy a cup of coffee, a short devotional reading, and some time reading the Bible. I'm a slow mover in the morning, and I enjoy having time to wake up without needing to function in an interactive way (translation: roommates are usually still asleep, so no need to talk when I'm groggy). I've also realized that my days have a rhythm to them, and it's often hard to get a time that is uninterrupted by school work, text messages, phone calls, emails, classes, or people.

This summer, I'm interning at a church in western North Carolina. When the summer began, I went over the weekly schedule with the pastor. He mentioned a group of men that get together at the church on Friday at 7am to study scripture. Then he told me, "You don't have to be there, but you're welcome to come." I thought I'd show up the first couple weeks, just to see and be seen, but I've come to enjoy it. It provides a unique opportunity for fellowship and learning. I'll never be able to learn as much as the men in that room have at their disposal. There are too many backgrounds, experiences, educations, and vocations. It's humbling to hear the way they speak about and understand scripture. I'll never be able to understand how they understand. But I can sit with them, listen to them, speak with them, and learn from them.

Scripture is rich. It has many layers. It speaks to us about where we've come from. It speaks to us where we are. I could use the different perspectives. I could use the wisdom.

"Iron sharpens iron, and one person sharpens the wits of another." Proverbs 27:17

Time has only the wings we give it

"These people are under continual disquietudes, never enjoying a minutes' peace of mind..."

-Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift, Part 3, chapter 2.

I think we humans are afraid of time. Maybe not afraid of time itself, but afraid of running out of it. Or afraid it will pass too quickly. Time flies, after all. Time flies when you're having fun too.

But does it really? The past few days have given me a new perspective, and I'm beginning to doubt this cliche we often accept as truth, or better yet a "fact of life." Three of the past four nights, I've spent at least thirty minutes watching the sunset. Honestly, my inability to watch it that one night was a bit bothersome. Most of the nights, I've spent closer to an hour watching the colors in the sky change. I really cannot recall the last time I truly stopped to watch the sunset. If I ever knew how long the whole process takes, I'd forgotten it due to lack of memory refreshment. But I think an hour is about a sufficient time to really take it all in. In the three days I've watched the sunset, that hour has seemed to move more slowly. The end result is that the day has seemed longer.

I don't think time flies. I think our preoccupation with other things makes us unaware of the ample time in a given day. I read two books by Dorothy Bass and Fred Edie that offered this kind of cultural critique, but it took me experiencing it to realize how right they were. When time flies, I find that I'm living my life giving the most attention to day books, calendars, wrist watches, and the rush to get to the next thing. As Edie observes in his Book, Bath, Table, and Time: we've gone from measuring time with a sundial (something connected to the natural movement of a day as we define it) to having our own wrist watches that are capable of dividing up our day into hours, minutes, and seconds. Without going into much detail (as this deserves), Edie argues that in learning to measure time so precisely and individually, humanity has removed itself from the rhythm of creation. Most of us no longer look at the position of the sun to tell the time- that's what the watch (or if you're like me, cell phone) is for.

When I pack my day full of things to do, places to be, people to see, I find myself out of rhythm with the (natural) day. I seldom notice the movement of the sun through the sky, and then wonder how it's already setting. Time doesn't fly. I'm just out of sync with the rhythm of the day. The narrator in Gulliver's Travels is describing a strange people he encounters that live much of their lives in their heads as they try to solve problems, but I think that the critique transfers easily to my life and those who subscribe to the myth that time flies because our days are too busy attending to problems/appointments/assignments. This week, I hope that you rouse yourself from a disquieted moment in order to allow yourself that moment (much longer than 60 seconds) of peace.